


Jag är kär i en ängel

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, IKEA fucking sucks, Jemma is hammering for no reason whatsoever, and Fitz falls in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote a lil somethin-somethin to the AU prompt: "It's like 3am and I’m exhausted and I can hear you raging next door about failing at putting an ikea bed together so here I am helping you put it together and holy shit you’re cute."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jag är kär i en ängel

**Author's Note:**

> The title means "I'm in love with an angel" and it's a song by Håkan Hellström and he's Swedish and IKEA is Swedish and it all falls into place

Leo Fitz didn’t sleep a lot. That was a simple fact, it was immensely true, and somewhat of a curse. Between trying to finish his PhD and getting in extra hours at the lab as well as doing freelance work at an auto shop close by, it didn’t feel like necessity. When he was on his feet, under a car or just working on future patents he could think about other things and forget that he was actually human being and had to do things like recharge so he wouldn’t fall asleep with his head on his keyboard. Sadly, today had been one of those days when he was jolted awake by a thumping noise on the other side of his bedroom wall, and he’d lifted his head to face the black void of his laptop screen. 

Lying belly down on his bed, sheets twisted around his legs like they were trying to trap him to the bed (which wasn’t _unappealing_ ), head resting half on top the cool surface of his MacBook’s keyboard. He just knew that his temple was imprinted with the right half of the black keys, reaching his hand out to trace the squared notches in his skin, and he groaned. The thumping kept on going, and he was continuously confused as to what his neighbor was doing.

Thumping was a pretty mundane alternative to what he sometimes heard of the ongoings on the other side of the wall. He’d heard everything from small explosions to large amounts of glass breaking, usually followed by a yelp. He’d thought about rushing over after those particularly off putting noises, but for some reason he never had after the woman living there yelled out something ridiculous like, _“interesting development”_ , and since she was obviously okay he didn’t feel bad about staying put in his own little apartment. And Fitz wasn’t good with talking to people - especially women, so really, why would he force something that wasn’t going to end well anyway? 

So, he’d never talked to her, and to be honest, he wasn’t even sure what she looked like, since they never seemed to cross paths in the staircase up to their floor. He knew her last name was Simmons, seeing as he could observe the name on her apartment door, but other than that she was somewhat of a mystery. 

The thumping stopped for a moment, and he let his head drop back down to the mattress, this time closing the laptop and pushing it away with one hand as he reached for a pillow with the other, forcing it in under his face with eyes closed and mind somewhat at peace. It wasn’t very often he could fall back asleep this quickly if he wasn’t expected to be somewhere, but when the thumping started again he was definitely woken up from another close call for actually getting the rest he needed. 

Fuck it. The thumping didn’t stop this time, if anything it grew more vigorous, so he reached around to grab his cellphone to check the time. When his hand didn’t even graze the stupid thing, he reached for the laptop again, opened the lid and as the screen lit up his eyes darted to the upper right corner where the digital clock counted the seconds, which were getting closer and closer to the satisfyingly even 3:15AM. He shook his head, looking over his options, and landing on the one he was most scared of, but would probably give the best results. 

Going over there.

It wasn’t as frightening of the concept in the wee hours of the morning, when his otherwise awkward and kind of shy personality was sleep deprived and grumpy, so getting up, getting dressed, walking out the door, and knocking on Simmons’s door were all done in a fever-dream like moment and when he suddenly stood eye to eye with the prettiest girl he’d ever met, he wasn’t exactly sure how he got there. Or what words were. Or if conversation is something that is needed when trying to express an opinion. 

She was obviously not older than him by any stretch of possibilities. Short, tired looking, hair nested in something that had probably been a very tight ponytail a good six hours ago; she was still pretty much the most stunning woman Fitz had laid his pathetic eyes on, and as her beautifully brown irises met his, he wasn’t even sure why the thumping had bothered him so much. It was probably important. He should have let her carry on. Should he say something? How much time had passed?

“I’m really sorry, was the hammering bothering you? Gosh, what time is it?” His heart swooped. She was British. Her eyes left his as she looked down at a dainty little wrist watch on her left arm, “Three AM? I can’t believe this, I thought it was eleven! Or something like that. Not this late! I don’t think it’s socially acceptable to be so noisy this close to breakfast? I’m so disrespectful, I know that other people live here, and you probably share your bedroom wall with my living room, don’t you? I’m really sorry; I’ll stop what I’m doing right now. Who needs a bed anyway? I can sleep on the couch for one night! I don’t know why I insist on finishing this stupid thing right now, I mean, I might be competitive and all that during the day, but at night – past midnight no less! – I should probably tone it down. It’s fine. I’m very sorry.”

She was rambling. It was adorable. Fitz was staring at her, eyes wider than tea saucers and he felt enchanted by her words. She did sound very frustrated, and if she was building a bed it was obviously very important. Maybe he should offer his help? Yes. Yes he should. But first, _play it safe and sound dumb_. “Are you… are you building a bed?”

Her eyes reached his again, and she looked very apologetic as she spoke again, “Yes, my old one broke earlier today, probably from too much pressure on the center beam,” She seemed to notice how bad it sounded, her eyes widened as she got very defensive in her next words, “Gosh, not like that! I’m not promiscuous or anything like that -- not that there’s anything wrong with engaging in casual sex! I mean, everyone needs a stress reliever, and as long as it’s safe sex with proper contraceptives there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, but, but that’s not how my bed broke,” Fitz blushed a little as she went on, but couldn’t help but smile a little anyway. “It was old to begin with, and I suspect the wood wasn’t of the best quality to begin with and why aren’t you stopping me?!”

His smile dropped pretty quickly, and now that she had spoken directly to him he was duly aware that it would be rude not to reply. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his sock-clad feet, thinking over what would be an appropriate answer since _‘your face is so goddamn beautiful that I didn’t want to end the conversation too quickly and you seem happy to talk and I’m happy to listen’_ seemed somewhat creepy. Stutter a little, that shows great confidence when trying to impress someone, “Would you, um, like some… help?”

“What?”

“Well,” he began, scratching the skin behind his left ear before crossing his arms again, not looking at her face because he knew the second he saw those beautiful eyes again he’d go quiet for an indefinite amount of time, “you see, I’m an engineer, or I’m… uh… soon… and I was thinking that a-a bed is probably not that difficult for me t-to help with,” He knew he just made her sound like an idiot who apparently couldn’t complete the simple task that was bed-building. He wanted someone to put him out of his misery, “If you want! I’m just, it’d probably be done today… that seemed to be pretty important to you, and I think it’d also be a bit quieter, I mean, I’m used to tools and all that…” Kill me.

She let out a huge sigh of relief, and he looked up at her for what was meant to be a second, but their eyes locked and she beamed at him and he was unable to look away as she spoke, “You might be an angel!” Fitz had to blush, because that sentiment was ridiculous, but the ways she smiled at him made him think that _she_ could be one. 

“No, I don’t think so… I’m just, uh, happy to help?” Her smile didn’t leave her face, and he wasn’t entirely sure that his heart was still beating. 

“Well, you’re something extraordinary! I was certain you’d come over to yell at me, for good reason, and instead you’re here, offering help.” Then she stepped aside to gesture for him to step inside, “Come in, come in!”

He did as he was told, and the sight he was faced with was somewhat cringe worthy. Stepping right into the living room, as he did every day in his own apartment (he noted that their apartments were probably identical when he quickly looked around) - the brown boxes around the mess of wood and cheap, mass-produced metal indicated that it was an IKEA bed. IKEA wasn’t exactly known for its difficult to put together furniture, but he decided to not comment on that. He stepped towards the atrocious building work Simmons had started there, and he noticed the hammer and the nails beside the plastic-wrapped mattress that was leaning against the couch. “Hammer and nails? Didn’t you get tools and stuff in the boxes?” 

She shuffled towards him a little, and when he looked over at her, he noted some embarrassment in her posture, “Uh, yes! But I couldn’t make any sense of it.” 

He nodded in understanding, realizing that it was probably just a classic case of someone who was beyond exhausted but still wanted to give the putting-together a try. It was just human; it wasn’t hard to underestimate IKEA. He should know; most of the stuff in his own apartment was from that treacherous chain.

“Okay well, do you have the booklet thing?”

She nodded and went to the other side of the pile of padded wood, and gave him a thin thing of six pages that was torn in one of the corners with the large letters of **ÅRVIKSAND** on the front. He grinned a little as he held up the torn part of the papers, and she mumbled, “It got stuck under the box with the headboard and I tried to rip it away.” 

He shrugged and sat down on the floor, to get a better read on the situation they were in, “Happens to the best of us.” He started running his fingers over the hammering she’d been doing, and realized that, “Were you actually supposed to hammer this?”  
She looked up from where she’d sat down on the other side of the pile of IKEA crap that was there, “N-no. I just… I couldn’t get the screws to work and look the way they do in the pictures, and then I just got so pissed that I just… used the hammer instead. It made more sense, really! Those stupid screws just wouldn’t screw!”

He chuckled when she spoke, picked up the hammer and started with pulling out the nails with the claw. For once he wasn’t annoyed with shoddy construction work, because it was easier to get the nails out when they were only half in and/or crooked. He looked up as he worked on a nail that was stuck particularly hard, and he asked, “Did you use the screwdriver? They usually provide this little thing…” He held up his hand with thumb and forefinger parted in an indication to the size of the thing as he looked around him to see if he could spot it, but he couldn’t. Probably a lost cause.

“I didn’t find one, I think? I don’t… I can’t recall one.” She looked so confused, and then she started looking around too. “I’m sure they wouldn’t forget to pack it, does that happen?”

Fitz shrugged as he moved to the next place where her angry hammering had taken place, having retrieved three nails so far. “Difficult to say when most of it is machine packed. I mean, I’m sure it’s just hid under your couch or something, these things happen, don’t worry.” He smiled at her and kept going with his task. He wondered if he should explain to her what she’d done wrong. Would she want to learn? Would she be offended? She didn’t seem like one who would be, but then again, he didn’t know her at all – hell, he didn’t even know her first name. He should probably ask. “So… um, what’s your name? I’m Fitz.” The sixth nail was more crooked than the others, and he speculated that she’d probably let out quite a lot of anger on those poor nails. 

Her eyes shot up and she sounded horrified when she introduced herself, “I can’t believe I haven’t even… what’s wrong with me today? I’m Jemma. Simmons. Jemma Simmons. Some people call me Simmons, which is fine, truly, but I do prefer Jemma.” She shook her head at herself and pulled her knees to her chest while he finished the little job he was doing. Finally with the total number of nine nails in his hand, he looked up with a lopsided smile.  
Jemma. That’s a perfect name.

“Okay, now we can get going with the building. Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be with this stupid, stupid bed.”

“Why didn’t you just hire one of the IKEA people to build it for you?”

“I’m an overachiever.” 

“Ah.”

\--

No matter how much of a genius Fitz was, it still took the better part of an hour and a half to get anywhere near the end result. He’d taken a few minutes before they started with the real putting together to run back to his apartment and get some of his own, more sophisticated tools. In the end he’d only used two different Philips heads, and even though he noticed Jemma smirk at the full toolbox, they didn’t approach the subject. 

It seemed that not only the hammering had been a wasted action on Jemma’s part – she’d also been using the wrong screws on more than one occasion, and Fitz teased her about totally ignoring the instructions in the IKEA-provided booklet. Then they noticed that there were actually six booklets, and Jemma had groaned and Fitz had laughed before going through them all to memorize the steps to being successful in that certain task. 

But then again, maybe the time ran long because he kept glancing up at her as she did small tasks like sorting the screws or separating the tools to make it easier for him as he worked. She had fixed her crooked ponytail when they needed to flip the ferocious thing over, so afterwards he’d been free to take in her whole face, and as she told him more and more things about herself _(working on her second PhD?! Holding an after school science club for middle schoolers?! Performing illegal experiments with strange chemicals in her bathroom!? Was she even real?)_ he wondered what kind of parents had been able to raise someone so perfect. She was so witty and snide in her comebacks to his lame jokes, that he didn’t even mind the way he unflatteringly laughed because that just made her smile proudly, like she’d achieved something great.

When the clock showed 4:47AM, he got the last screw in place, and he stood up to help her get the bed into her bedroom. It a strangely empty space, but he realized soon that it was because of the absence of a bed, and as soon as it was in place, he helped her get the fabric on the headboard before mounting it on the two metal poles that he’d put into place after Jemma had claimed that they were superfluous pieces, _“I promise you Fitz, they won’t fit anywhere. It’s just another packaging error, like with the screwdriver,” “really, Jemma? You wanna bet on that?”_ She did, but she pulled out the second he found the lost screwdriver under her coffee table.

“Oh look, it was a bed after all.” Jemma said with a smile as they looked over their hard work. “I was afraid it was actually a kitchen table or a reincarnation of Satan.” 

Fitz had to laugh at that, but that might have been because of how tired he was, because somehow everything that came from Jemma’s lips was amazing. And that newly made bed with fresh sheets and an excess amount of pillows looked dangerously inviting. He shook his head. He didn’t want to sleep in Jemma’s bed. 

That was probably a lie.

“Thank you so much for your help, Fitz. I would never have been able to finish this without you, that’s certain. They should put a warning label on the website or something about starting these projects when you’re not ready for the responsibility! Thankfully it wasn’t bookshelves, I’m quite sure I would have broken those before you came along.” Then she turned to him and asked with grave seriousness, “What do I owe you?” 

His eyes widened and he stuttered, “You don’t owe me anything! It was fun, I enjoyed it.” He smiled earnestly, and hoped she’d be okay with that. But he’d always been a dreamer.

“No! I won’t just let you waste lots of time on this when you could have been going through a good sleep cycle, which I interrupted. I need to repay you with something!” She looked desperate, and it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t someone who liked having a debt over her head.

“Well, um,” _Be brave, for once_ , “Maybe-maybe a cup of coffee? And a pastry?” _And your company for a million more minutes_.

She beamed, “That can be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to all the people who have at some point bought IKEA bookshelves and tried to put them together and then ripped all the instructions in half and ended up having to call the IKEA customer service but then the person who answered only spoke Finnish and your Finnish is fine and all but the guy was talking really fast and using technical words and he thinks you're stupid even though you're most definitely not but life still kind of lost meaning at that moment.
> 
> Not that this happened to me or anything.
> 
> This was also maybe a bit of an indication to the fact that I'm kind of multilingual and I hope that any linguistic issues that are present in the text can be forgiven, seeing as I don't have a beta.


End file.
